


Dear Pinocchio

by AQuarterPast



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Gen, You want two docs, you get two docs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27419956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AQuarterPast/pseuds/AQuarterPast
Summary: The Doctor meets a blue entity and becomes a real boy, but nothing on Voyager is ever easy
Relationships: The Doctor (Star Trek) & Kathryn Janeway
Kudos: 7





	1. i

**Story Timeline:** Roughly a year after the events of Homestead; because I'm thoroughly tired of the Borg, _Voyager_ as taken its happy little self on a a route where they have not been in any contact with them for roughly six months. At around the time of Endgame (Stardate: 54973.4) they did have an encounter (in the loosest of senses), and plotted a course that was (sadly) three years out of their way. It's the journey, after all, that matters (thank you, Harry Kim).

 **Notes of Interest:** Unconventional pairing, AU after Renaissance Man, Chakotay and Seven do go about having their own relationship (the details will not, however, be written too thoroughly in here).

Disclaimer: If I owned the series, Kathryn Janeway would have never become a crone.

* * *

**Dear Pinocchio?**

(or, _Doctor Deux_ )

* * *

The Doctor didn't think that drinking holographic coffee in a holographic representation of Tuscany was moot in its point.

An organic might, should they look at the scenario through a skeptic's eye, for coffee was a substance that (although carrying the nutritional value of nearly nothing) was consumed for the benefit of its caffeine and taste. He could not taste, nor could holographic coffee simulate one on the chance that he could, but he had long ago come to the conclusion that it was always the company, not the beverage, that gave this experience its worth.

(Although, something told him that even a skeptic like Kathryn Janeway, especially Kathryn Janeway, would drink a cup of holographic coffee if it came down to it).

They were seated inside a hole-in-the-wall. Or, that was the 21st century term Paris used to described _Café d'Etoile,_ an establishment that was set rather quaintly on the port-side of Livorno, Italy. It was one of many little cafés in a program that had grown to be as popular as Fair Haven but longer lasting, as it was free of technological glitches that plagued the old program. Monsieurs Paris and Kim had spent the better part of the last year of relative uninteresting space adding to the Tuscany program until it, too, became a ship-wide favorite.

The Captain, or Kathryn – as she continued to maintain that their ranks remained at the door (a concept that had felt extraordinarily novel to the Doctor, espcially since his name _was_ his rank) – was wearing a cardigan on a summer's day. He could only assume that she had tinkered with the temperature settings while he had been ordering their coffee, as not even a woman with her caliber of stubbornness could survive an Italian summer in a sweater.

She was brooding – more than she had been in the last twelve months – so much so that the Doctor was willing to part ways with his own activity rations in order to add a sliver of glorified sugar to her dish. He did so knowing that the gesture, though small, would bring an attempted smile to her face.

She always tried to be happy, when she thought it counted.

"Lemon meringue for your thoughts?" he set the plate and her coffee on the small table and took his seat.

The Doctor didn't need to see her quirked brow to know she knew that the café, before he had ordered, had not carried the dessert anywhere on their menu.

When Janeway didn't speak, his own eyebrows arched very highly in understanding, "Or should I say, 'Leola Root Stew' for your thoughts. It's a year tomorrow, if I recall…"

She nodded, more miserably than he knew she usually allowed herself in front of any of her crew (rank at the door or not), and gave a soft sigh, "It was hard to believe when he first appeared on the bridge view screen, in that garbage scow, that he would become such an integral member of our crew – no," she corrected herself, wry smile in place, hand up and tone low "our _family_."

"I'm not sure Neelix would take well to being told he lived the life of a junkyard dog before _Voyager_ ," his tone was haughty, but had the desired effect…

Sitting straighter in her chair, Kathryn jutted her chin out in the way that could only mean 'stubborn', "About as well as the Maquis would have taken to being called terrorists…"

The joke was well met, and they shared a soft chuckle before falling into companionable silence.

Their coffee dates had had no routine in the beginning. Their first had been held in one of the Captain's private holo-programs, a small square in Buenos Aires, and while he had enjoyed the hour in her company, it had been their only for nearly too and a half months. Despite of this, however, it had been enough to prove that Kathryn's promise to make an effort had been a sincere. One coffee had turned into two at his insistence and then into three at hers.

It had been awkward – as most things tend to be at their beginning – and both were acutely aware that their willingness to spend more time together was done so not because of complimentary personalities but because of loneliness. Yes, it had lasted at those feeble stages because Seven no longer needed his assistance in personal matters; the Doctor would not be surprised if the Captain allowed it to last because Chakotay was now the leading cause of Seven's personal maturing.

But this was not a patch for personal wounds, and neither pretended it was. Patches were for holes that could not be mended on their own – forced and uncomfortable and ineffective. No, it was a friendship, and as it grew with time, it was one that he had begun to hold very dear.

(Besides, he could monitor her health better than he had ever been able to do previously now that they met once every other week).

To give himself something to do as they sat quietly for several more minutes, the Doctor took a sip of his holographic coffee and tasted nothing. His programming register the physiological reactions necessary in a swallow, and he contemplated what it might feel like to taste the beverage.

"We've managed to stabilize our communication with settlement after the last ion storm. Couldn't we could ask Seven to establish a solid link tomorrow? The crew will, no doubt, be happy to say hello to their favorite Talaxian. I know one in particular…"

Naomi came to mind.

To the Captain's mind as well, and she flashed him a genuine grin full of teeth "That's a wonderful idea, Doctor. I'll speak to her about it when we've finished here."

The renewed vigor in her speech led him to believe that Neelix's absence was, in fact, the only thing weighing heavily on her mind at the current moment. Pleased that this was the case, he refrained from mentioning the latest opera he had discovered hidden away in his databanks and instead began discussing the hydroponics bay. He felt that the growing botanist in her would enjoy hearing that he'd discovered nutritional and gestational value in the latest round of seeds they had collected on their journey.

ii

It happened quickly after this.

Not a day, not a week, but it happened very quickly nevertheless. How could it not be quickly? One doesn't judge the time it will take for their life to be altered. _Voyager'_ s crew did not think to themselves after being flung across their galaxy, 'That happened much more slowly than I had expected it to.' No, they had not; they had moved through their first week of duty in shock, because the quickness of unfortunate events can only ever be that, a shock.

To the Doctor, it happened the most quickly of all…

iii

Harry was at the operations console when it _did_ happen, monitoring the _Delta Flyer_ and the two biological life signs within it: Tom and Seven.

The ensign could not help but feel small traces of bemusement at the thought of the two deep in conversation. Well, in as deep of a conversation as Seven of Nine could get beyond responses meant to 'terminate' the 'irrelevant' line of inquiry. Her social skills had improved over the last year (if the rumors were true about the ex-drone and the Commander then an explanation for why was not needed), but she still had parsecs to go before anything Tom had to say would be met with a truly interested response.

But no, Harry did not feel sorry for Tom. The pilot could take care of himself (he had married a half-Klingon after all, and was now raising what looked to be that half-Klingon's clone); it was the Doctor who held Harry's sympathy. Or maybe he felt sorry for Tom _and_ Seven?

It was a very peculiar trio to have been sent to study the blue gas giant. Tom because he could fly, Seven because the atmosphere appeared to contain a previously unknown substance that boosted sensor readings, and the Doctor because he was going – for lack of a better phrasing – stir crazy.

Oh, of course he had made an excuse about a potential medical property mixed right in there with sensor-enhancing molecules, but the Captain had cut him off with a wave of her hand an a barely contained smile when she'd said, "Doctor, you're with Paris and Seven."

Overall, the mission was nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary, and Harry was bored.

He felt much better knowing that he was probably not the only one.

When it did happen, Harry's eyes were scanning the bridge to be sure that his misery was, in fact, being shared. It was. Even Tuvok, standing at his station with the attention and patience only a Vulcan could exude, looked ready to yawn. But no, that was merely a catch in the bridge's clinical light or a flight of fancy in Harry's mind; Tuvok would _never_ yawn.

Harry's console beeped, and he looked back at it chagrined. Chakotay glanced up from his place at Command, eyes inquiring whether the sound held any significance. He looked like he might be praying to something that it did, "Report?"

"There was a fluctuation in the atmosphere of the planet, sir, just off of bow of the _Delta Flyer_. It looks like a natural occurrence, perhaps the beginning of a storm."

"Might as well check it out. Chakotay to the _Delta Flyer_."

"Yes, Commander," Seven's cool voice filled the bridge.

Harry tried to get a visual, but there was too much interference from the planet.

"The sensors have picked up a possible storm just off the _Delta Flyer_ , are you aware of it?" Chakotay was tapping commands into the console at his chair, likely pulling up the very data Harry himself was reading.

There was a pause, normal static, and then Tom, "Gotcha Commander, and we don't think it's a natural storm. The atmospheric conditions were stable until we transported some of it aboard."

"We are running tests," Seven concluded.

Through it, the low timber of the Doctor's voice could be heard. His words were not tangible, but Harry could only assume that he was running the aforementioned tests as they spoke. Perhaps he had not been lying when he'd told the Captain about the medicinal properties of the atmosphere?

Harry's console beeped again.

"Another storm is forming!"

There was more than one, but he didn't need to articulate it. The way the Commander's face seemed to tense with worry let him know that he was getting the same readings he was.

" _Delta Flyer_ ," Chakotay started, stopping short when a harsh static rebounded back through the feed.

Wincing, he ordered Harry to cut the comm-link and tapped his combadge, "Commander Chakotay to Captain Janeway."

Gruff, Janeway's voice was a balm to the bridge crew's tense nerves, "Go ahead, Commander."

"The away team is experiencing atmospheric storms, and they seem…." he looked toward his console again, pressing several commands before muttering a light swear, "to mirror signs of life."

Harry, already having come to that conclusion, looked over to Tuvok to see his reaction. The Vulcan merely raised a brow in his direction.

No sigh, no pause, just a curt and reassuring, "I'm on my way, Commander."

By the time she reached the bridge, it would be to late. The sensors would have already read that the _Delta Flyer_ was being engulfed in a solidifying mass, that the shuttle then disappeared for the briefest of moments into what could only be described as a sensory overload, and then reappeared.

Undamaged.

In near perfect condition.

But with three biological life signs; one of them fading fast.


	2. ii

i

  
Eight years in the Delta Quadrant had prepared Kathryn Janeway for nearly any crisis or hiccup in the voyage home, but nothing could prepare her for the prospect of losing a member of her crew. Every time they lost someone or came close to it – every time the Doctor reported a time of death or the need for immediate surgery – she felt something in her chest coil as her ability to fulfill the promise to her crew was called into question. Guilt over the lost lives of her subordinates had quickly morphed into guilt over the lost lives of her growing family.

Reports from the _Delta Flyer_ had not come in, not since the atmosphere's fluctuation, but the shuttle had already disengaged from the gas giant and was making its way back. At the Ops, Harry provided frequent updates on the status of the life signs on board, while Tuvok assured the bridge crew that the planet appeared to show no further untoward signs of hostility.

Tensions were high, naturally, and Kathryn found herself sharing an outwardly concerned glance with Chakotay.

They didn't know who was injured, what that third life sign belonged to, or what the storm had done. In any other given situation – even if it had a Borg cube looming before her on the view screen – she would have been able to ease some of the concerns of her crew, but Harry's voice seemed unsure with his next announcement and she found that her thoughts were no more certain.

Just as she was about to bound around the divider and push the young ensign out of the way, Tom's voice signaled the opening of communications, " _Delta Flyer_ to _Voyager_! Are you there?"

"We hear you, Mr. Paris," it was an automatic response, borne from years of similar reactions.

He wasted no time, nearly cutting her off, "Captain, we need a site-to-site transport for two to the sick bay."

"Seven?" she asked, momentarily worried that the ex-drown was the injured party.

"Is piloting this shuttle back," Tom effectively answered, "it's a long story, but the Doctor's incapacitated, and I need to be in sickbay, or we'll lose him."

"Him?" even to her own ears, she sounded too confused.

Leave it to Thomas Paris to chuckle at a time like this, however dark it sounded, "I told you it was a long story. Can _Voyager_ make the transport?"

Harry's nod was rapidly delivered, followed by a, "I have a lock."

"Do it, Mr. Kim."

"Transporting now."

A pause.

"They're in."

Kathryn stood, half turned toward the viewport and half toward the Ops. In her peripheral, she could see Chakotay's attention rapt on the image of the _Delta Flyer'_ s safe approach. She may have forced a distance between herself and the pair in the last several months, but while she had not stopped caring for them, it was not the time to share in his relief.

Still confused but now determined, she turned entirely toward Harry, "I want a full report on what just happened. Speak with Seven when she returns to corroborate whatever data they gathered with yours. Commander," her voice was sharp but not unkind.

"Yes, Captain," he'd risen to his feet, prepared to be sent where ever she needed him.

He wasn't going anywhere, not today.

Already halfway to the turbolift doors, she gave her orders, "You have the bridge; I'll be in sickbay figuring out what the hell just happened."

ii

What she stepped into when passing through the sickbay doors could only be described as a scene out of a dully written holonovel. Bland, quiet and without the usual hustling to-and-fro one would expect after such a suspenseful morning.

It was how Kathryn liked it – calm but not entirely subdued – and as she looked around, she could see that the bulk of the action was occurring at the biobed, over a patient she could not make out under the scanners.

"Captain," Tom met her between the biobed and the door, stopping when the center terminal was between them, "he's stabilized for the moment, but I won't know exactly what happened until Seven looks through the data that we gathered from the planet."

It struck her how tired Tom appeared – tired but well. Another crew member Kathryn could stop worrying about.

"He?" she asked, craning her neck to look over Tom's shoulder, still unable to determine who _he_ was, but having a vaguely sickening idea who it might be.

Tom rubbed the back of his neck and winced as followed her gaze to look at the biobed, "I don't know how to explain it, Captain. One minute the Doctor was the Doctor – with a perfectly functioning holomatrix – and the next…well…"

He met her eyes, "he's unconscious, but you can see him now if you'd like. We'll have to stabilize his blood pH level before we wake him and repl…the least we can do is make sure he doesn't have a headache when…" here he stopped, clearly unsure of what to else to say.

The third biological life sign _had_ been the Doctor's, then?

Kathryn tried to comprehend this but fell short. Yet, whatever the strength of her shock, when she reached the bed and peered down, it was with care. Kathryn knew the Doctor deserved better than to be gawked at like a specimen of an experiment.

She studied him regardless, searching for verification of Tom's report.

He looked the same physically, which was a testament to the intricacies of hologram design, but the difference that mattered were noticeably so. Breathing, deep and even in his unconscious state. The heat of human skin, unsimulated, warmed her as she pressed her palm to his forehead. A pulse, slow and steady in his temple; his sweat cool and slick beneath her palm.

The Doctor was real in a way that photons and light couldn't be...No. That wasn't right. The Doctor was human in a way that photons and light couldn't be.

Kathryn felt her throat constrict, cutting of a stream of questions she felt scientifically obligated to ask. Hologram to human? The first in history. Peering up toward Tom while Samantha administered a hypospray, she was only able to manage a simple, "How?"

The pilot shrugged, equally as baffled.

"That planet, Captain, when it…" he paused, uncharacteristically uncertain how to continue again, "there was a moment when it surrounded the _Delta Flyer_. It breached our shields, and the Doctor, he was…talking to…it?"

Tom's description was informative but unhelpful. They'd have to wait until Harry and Seven were able to sort through the for a a complete explanation. Until then…Kathryn allowed her gaze to drift down to the scientific anomaly that continued to sweat beneath her hand. What would say when they woke him?

If there was one thing she was most certain about her friend, it was that while he coveted humanity, he was exceptionally proud of his holomatrix. He told her as much on several occasions. His reaction to this was an unknown.

"All right, Tom. Keep an eye on him and contact me when he's conscious," she removed her hand from the Doctor's forehead, giving him a sympathetic frown that he could not see.

Kathryn was already passing Tom when the pilot stopped her once more, "Captain, there's something else…"

She paused. Noticing how weary the younger man's entire demeanor looked, her command tone was completely replaced with the same sad sympathy she'd just displayed, "What is it, Tom?"

His expression told he he'd thought long and hard about this, "It's his mobile emitter. I scanned for it on the shuttle and checked him for it here. It's missing…and uh…"

Valuable technology or not, the mobile emitter did not take precedence over the patient, "We'll discuss possible solutions with the Doctor when he's awake and able. Until then, just make sure he _is_ able to wake," she couldn't help but for it to sound wry; the Doctor had been synonymous with the term 'activated' not with the word 'awake' for the last eight years, after all.

"Aye, Captain."

"I'll have B'Elanna search the shuttle; after that, we'll take it one step at a time."

With one more look cast toward the biobed, Kathryn left the sickbay more ill-at-ease than when she had entered it.

iii

The Doctor slept through four shifts; something that Tom stressed they should allow him to do. His new body was fragile, had come into being with many of the minerals and nutrients it needed missing, and was in no shape to do any of the functions consciousness required. Vitamins, an immune system, iron needed to bond oxygen to his blood (this, according to Tom was the significant cause of his very near death), all absent.

After receiving the full report on the Doctor's condition, Kathryn had found herself more than agreeable to the idea he remain unconscious while they introduced what was needed to his systems. She'd been initially hesitant, however, when Tom requested allowing the backup EMH program be activated to oversee the procedures.

It didn't last; the Doctor's odds had turned that hesitation into wholehearted consent.

They'd deal with the ramification of that awkward decision later.

Enough had been discovered concerning the planet to hold a staff meeting while they waited. In it, Seven explained – in a way that only she could (professionally detached, with only a hint more emotion than the Vulcan sitting next to her) – not so much the cause of the Doctor's sudden transformation but the likeliest cause of the situation as a whole.

The planet was, as previously concluded, sentient. Or rather, the gaseous atmosphere that made up nearly eighty percent of it was. Patterns in its movements had proven that, not only were the electrical currents within it indicative of life but of high level thinking. An extraordinarily high level of thinking. Despite this, however, all questions concerning how to communicate with it couldn't be answered – not even with the agreement between Seven and Tom that the Doctor had been speaking to it.

Worse news was delivered by B'Elanna: the whereabouts of the Doctor's mobile-emitter remained unknown.

And Tuvok, with his infinite wisdom, was the only willing to admit possible defeat. With dark eyes that betrayed nothing beyond his usual logical calm, he suggested that they – if all available options of solving this run out – should embrace the Doctor's new status and help him (both of 'him') adjust. And do so as _delicately_ as possible.

iv

When she next entered the sickbay, it was after nearly a day of no rest and on reserve (caffeinated) power. Too tired to bat and eye at the sight of a Doctor working beside the biobed and a Doctor lying on it, she approached.

Tom, looking as exhausted as she felt, greeted her simply by rank.

She nodded her response and stepped between the working men.

"How is he?" It was open to either to answer; she was aware of the tension that may exist and didn't want to aggravate it.

The backup EMH was identical to the Doctor, except for not being privy to the progress he had made in the past year and a half. The data was there for him to access, though, should he choose to locate the logs between then and now. Whether he would or not was still an unknown.

And the fact remained: he was sentient.

Kathryn couldn't deny it, not to spare her sensibilities the dilemma of having _two_ identity crises on her hand. He was sentient and just as likely to be prone to the shock of seeing a human version of himself.

The EMH responded without looking up from his tricorder, "He'll live, fortunately. Whatever made him didn't do it right," he was definitely uncomfortable, refusing to meet her gaze as he traveled the length of the biobed to continue his scans. "He was lucky to make it to _Voyager_ alive," his tone suggested that, while programmed to assist all living beings in need, he would have preferred not to have it asked of him this time.

Tom shuffled up next to her and spoke slowly, "Holo-Doc doesn't know what's going to happen to him once Human-Doc wakes up."

It wasn't the most eloquent way of putting it, but it would do.

Kathryn looked at Tom, frowned her understanding, and whispered in response, "Has he said anything?"

The pilot shook his head, "No, that's the problem. He's been silent. He took one look at Human-Doc, downloaded my report and hasn't said much since. I think he's worried we'll permanently deactivate him simply on the grounds that he was a backup."

If he could hear them, which was very likely, the EMH didn't let on. That itself was a bad sign, and Kathryn felt a very familiar headache begin to form around her temples. It was the one she got during temporal paradoxes or when Q stopped in for a visit. This was complicated; this was _messy_. The Doctor had spent the last eight years stressing the importance of his rights – he'd _never_ stopped fighting for them, and likely never would. He was worried, and she knew an ethical choice when she saw one.

They'd activated him because of his expertise, but they would not deactivate him after his services were rendered. The EMH was _not_ a tool of convenience; he was their colleague and friend. The only difference now was simply that there were two of him.

It would add another level of adjustment, but that was the price well worth paying.

She nodded her head to the door. Tom took the hint, and excused himself with a pat to the stomach and an, "I think it's my turn to feed Miral…".

Silence reigned in his wake. The EMH continued conducting unnecessary scans, and Kathryn watched him with a growing expression of sadness. Had they really not been able to reassure him in the past years that his place on the crew was not up for debate? Did he think that they thought so lowly of him?

Aware that he did not have the memories of their growing friendship, Kathryn approached the topic gently. As gently as she could, rather.

"Doctor."

"Captain, I'm b…"

She placed a hand firmly on her hip.

Sighing, he folded his tricorder and looked at her, reading her incorrectly, "We can wake him whenever you would like."

"Thank you, Doctor."

He turned to pass her, but she grabbed his arm before he could and craned her neck to catch his gaze. "That's not all..."

His inquisitive, worried brown eyes caught hers, and she gave him the best reassuring smile she could manage at the given moment.

When he made no sign of moving, she continued with enough conviction to convince an entire panel of holo-skeptic Admirals, "You're indispensable. You _are not_ a tool. We activated you with the understanding that, once doing so, you were no longer your own backup file but _you_. I cannot have you worried about this, Doctor."

A rueful smile blossomed on her lips, "We'll have enough problems when he wakes up, and I can't afford both of you suffering from identity crises. Understood?"

Some, not all, of the stoney anxiety cleared from his eyes. Squaring his shoulders, the EMH gave her strong nod, "Understood."

She patted his arm where she'd grabbed him, "Good. Now, let's wake him."


	3. iii

i

  
Kathryn flexed her sore fingers and tried to maintain polite attention while Chakotay spoke.

They shared few dinners anymore, opting instead for casual lunches when he could sway her from her ready room or a late night coffee in the Mess Hall during shift changes, but her best friend had requested her presence tonight. Who was she to refuse?

"And you've stopped paying attention," he claimed. Years of experience had trained him to be patient, amused even, when Kathryn Janeway tuned out his warm voice to focus in on her own thoughts, but that did not mean he was going to sit idly by while it happened.

She gave him and apologetic smile and reached for her fork. Chakotay had prepared her a very thoughtful meal of lamb – he had taken plate of black-bean casserole – and she had let it go cold in addition to ignoring him.

"You haven't told me how the Doctor reacted when you woke him, " he'd also learned how to pinpoint what she thought of while ignoring him with surprising accuracy. It was something that had not diminished since his relationship with Seven had begun.

What could she say? The Doctor had reacted poorly.

Dazed and uncertain of his surroundings as well as the new sensations that came along with being human, he had done what Kathryn suspected anyone else in his position would have done. Hyperventilated under the pressures of discovering he had to breathe, sobbed with abandon at the simple pain of the headache he'd awoken to, having never experienced the feeling of his pulse throbbing in his temples. No words had passed from his lips, and there had only been the look of unabated fright in his dark eyes.

Perturbed at the sight and what it represented, the EMH had quickly sedated him.

The human Doctor remained unconscious even now, relocated to one of the unequipped beds in sickbay, where he would remain throughout the night.

Kathryn flexed her fingers again and sighed, wishing to safeguard his dignity even from her closest friend, "I gave him a hand to hold, and he ground my knuckles together so tightly that the EMH tried to harass me with painkillers afterward."

Already she had found herself falling into the unsettling habit of calling the patient Doctor and his caretaker the EMH. While she would never make the mistake of doing so aloud in front of either of them, it deeply bothered her that these labels were even necessary at all.

"Which you didn't accept."

"How could I, Chakotay?" there was a new vehemence in her tone, the sort she adopted when deciding to take entirely too much of the blame for herself.

His handsome face took on an expression she knew too well. It was one of pity, understanding and disappointment. It was the look he gave her when he thought she was martyring herself out of guilt. It was also the most common expression she'd been forced to endure from him in the last four years.

Kathryn didn't like it or what it represented to her – a viable scapegoat, the option to say that none of this was her fault.

"Allowing him to treat your hand may have gone a long way to comfort him, Kathryn. It could have validated his role as an important member of this crew…" like so many times before, this man demonstrated how much he understood the nuances of a delicate situation.

Perhaps more than she did.

For the first time in a very long time, Kathryn allowed her worry to show. Giving of the pretense of eating, she set aside her fork and placed her arms on either side of her plate.

"What do I do?" It wasn't a plead, but a matter of fact request for options.

He regarded her for a long moment, warm brown gaze taking on a strategic edge as he thought over thei- _her_ options. Finally coming to a decision, Chakotay followed her example and reached his arms across the table. One of his dark hands closing over hers, more as a point than as a comfort.

When she couldn't suppress the wince that resulted, her XO gave her a rueful smile before letting it go, "I don't know, but as a concerned friend and a loyal officer, I have to suggest that you get that hand looked at. I think our new patient did more damage than you think…"

Despite her history of arguing to put off necessary treatment, Chakotay was not surprised when she excused herself with an apology quickly thereafter. He knew. He'd known since the news had come in; the Doctors' burdens were now her own.

So attested the quick clip of her boots as she exited his quarters.

ii

The lights in sickbay were dim, betraying the late hour, when Kathryn strode through the doors.

The hum of _Voyager_ 's engines provided the evening's white noise, a lulling calm that many members of the crew depended on when falling to asleep at night. She herself was tired, having slept only two hours before being driven to her feet once again by her duties, but she had one more thing to do before she could rest.

The room appeared empty aside from the dark form of the sleeping Doctor in the corner. The EMH's office was empty; it was likely that he had deactivated himself for the evening.

Kathryn was about to activate him again when a sound stirred from within the laboratory.

Curiosity spurred her forward, and she tilted her head while she wandered through the office. Entering the medical lab, she was surprised to see the glow of one of the consoles and the figure leaning over it.

"Icheb?"

"Captain. I wasn't expecting you," The young man whipped around.

She was momentarily reminded of a more stoic version of the younger Harry Kim and held up a hand, "That's the point; I try to avoid making any appointments here at all cost…"

Icheb remained silent, as if unsuccessfully trying to determine how to respond.

Kathryn had grown distant from the crew in the past year, making small talk in dark rooms with them beyond what she would call her comfort zone, "You're in late. Studying?"

The Brunali gave her a single nod – his brown eyes betraying his usual stilted calm, "The Doctor assigned a project the week before last. I have nearly completed it, but the events of the last two days have hindered my progress. I did not want to be underfoot; the Doctor's continued well being is…"

His gaze skittered the room before locking on hers, "important to me. But I must finish this before the end of Gamma Shift."

At his admission, Kathryn's face softened. She'd had no intentions of reprimanding him before, but his concern for the Doctor and his determination to finish his assignment warmed her to this unplanned encounter.

Resting her good hand on his shoulder, she gave him a level but gentle nod, "Go. Regenerate. We'll speak to the Doctor about giving you an extension on the project. I doubt he'll be awake to chastise you, anyway…"

The truth was, she doubted the he'd downloaded the last year of his memory, despite his free access to it. Icheb might not even have a project due, if the human Doctor did not survive this.

Icheb eyed her carefully as if coming to an obvious conclusion, "You are here to speak to the Doctor?"

His observation gave her reason to award him with a wry smile as she pulled her hand from his should, "That was the idea."

He encoded his work quickly and stood, "Then I will speak with him as well."

Crossing her arms, Kathryn shook her head with a dry, "I was rather hoping to do this on my own…"

He cast an measure glance her way – with that blunt curiosity ex-Borg drones all seemed to have in abundance, "You wish to comfort him."

Patiently, she refrained from rolling her eyes at him, "Something like that."

"Then I will go," he gave her a brief nod before striding toward the door, stopping only to deliver a parting, "thank you."

Kathryn watched, a look of fondness filling her expression as she did, "Computer, activate the Emergency Medical Hologram."

He solidified before her with a, "Please state the nature of….Captain, I wasn't expecting you until morning."

Her injured hand was held up by way of an explanation, "It hurts more than I had anticipated."

"Doesn't it always," he muttered darkly, taking her wrist gently into his hand and pulling her into his office, as if not trusting her to follow him on her own accord.

With a small grunt of disapproval, she allowed him to man-handle her, cognizant of the fact that his fears had likely not been abated during his deactivation.

With no words spoken between them, he sat her at his desk and left to retrieve a medical tricorder. Kathryn watched him as she did, noting silently that he took a brief moment to stare at the Doctor lying unconscious on the far bed before returning to scan her hand. As he worked, the EMH's brow furrowed with a second of concentration before he flipped the tricorder closed and left once more to retrieve and load a hypospray.

"Will I live?" she asked while he administered the painkiller.

"Provided you don't do anything rash for the rest of the journey, yes," he chided as he ran a bone regenerator over the base of her knuckles, "I wish you would have let me look at this earlier. My counterpart may be human, but his grip was strong enough to create a stress fracture in your third metacarpal. It's easy to heal of course, but I imagine it was not comfortable."

She took her hand back when he'd finished it, "To be honest, I wasn't thinking about my wellbeing earlier…"

"Doesn't surprise me," he quipped, "it's a rare day when you do."

Kathryn pursed her lips and ducked her chin, looking at him through nonplused eyes, "As I was saying, Doctor. I wasn't thinking about my wellbeing earlier because I wasn't _worried_ about _me_ …"

Understanding seemed to take root, or rather, misunderstanding, "Ah. Well, I assure you, our patient will be fine. If he's still anything like me, he'll adapt quickly enough."

How could such a prideful man still sound so insecure?

A sigh escaped her before she could check it, "I'm glad to hear that, but I also want to know how you are. How has this affected you? To be honest, if there were another me lying on that bed, I'd be…"

"I trust what you said earlier, Captain," he interrupted before she could finish her sentence and turned away from her. "I trust that I will not be decompiled because a better…version of me exists. I trust that I will even learn to acclimate myself to existence without my mobile emitter…"

His voice seemed to catch with the last statement, as if he possibly might not.

Kathryn stood, unsure how to comfort a man who refused to admit that he was grieving, even if it was evident, "We will find it, Doctor."

When he turned, ready to catch her eye once more, she was nearly floored with resoluteness in them despite the flippancy of his tone, "I respect that promise, Captain, but I also know that you cannot keep it."

In response to the furrow of her brow, he continued softly, "I know where it is, I just can't ethically claim it as my own."

Confused, she struggled to find the words necessary to ask what he meant. Kathryn settled for a simple, "But Lieutenant Torres scanned for it on the shuttle, the readings came back inconclusive…"

There was a moment where the EMH looked as if he were debating whether to share the information. It was short-lived, and he gently moved her out of his way and brought the Doctor's medical results up on his computer terminal.

When the EMH motioned for her to read them, Kathryn took a moment to glance at him with concern before following his silent order. Beside her, he watched with resigned patience as she pieced the puzzle together.

"Lieutenant Torres did not find it because she wasn't looking in the right plae…"

"How is this possible?" Kathryn breathed, her disbelief tangible.

"How is any of this possible? I wasn't there, so I cannot tell you the why's and the how's. What I can tell you is that the mobile-emitter has been fused into the inside of his skull, and that all of his higher-level brain activity originates from it. If we remove it…"

There was no need for him to finish the sentence. If they removed it, the Doctor would be nothing more than a human shell.

Stricken, she looked through the glass of the office, toward the man in the bed that would have a long struggle ahead of him, and then she looked to the hologram beside her…who had already, in so many ways, struggled. And it seemed he was beginning to see that it had all been naught.

A lump formed in her throat, and she grabbed for his elbow, "I'm sorry…."

He tried to look cheerful, and he failed. Finally, after much posturing, the EMH allowed his shoulders to sag as the shadows on his face deepened, "There's always the holodeck and coffee in Tuscany…"

"Always," automatic but sincere.

It was only as she settled on a stool next to the Doctor's bed, moments after the EMH requested to be deactivated, that Kathryn allowed herself to understand what he'd just told her. The hologram had downloaded the last year an a half of his files. He was, effectively, the same man that had left for the away mission two days ago.

An exact, photonic replica of the man that she watched sleep peacefully through the night.

iii

Kathryn awoke to the smell of fresh coffee.

She didn't recall having fallen asleep – which, in her opinion, was never a good sigh – and sat up abruptly. The sight that met her was an amused Tom Paris, standing beside the bed she didn't remember lying on the night before.

"Good morning, captain. Something told me to expect that you'd to be here…or rather, someone…" He offered her the mug, with a glib comment about how he'd known a good cup of joe would work just the same as smelling salts, and she took the drink much more quickly than she would have liked to.

"What time is it?" Her voice was gravel, her hair was a nest, and she felt the telltale pounding in her forehead. Whatever time it was, her body knew that it still hadn't acquired the sleep it needed.

"O'seven hundred and some spare change," Tom watched her take the first sip before retrieving a medical tricorder to scan the Doctor.

Doing the math, she was able to ascertain that she'd had roughly four hours of sleep. Her scheduled shift had already begun, which meant that either Tuvok or Chakotay had taken the liberty of changing the duty roster for the day. Which also begged the question of who had alerted them to her slumber? Clearly not Tom; she spotted the EMH toiling in his office and decided he was the perpetrator.

As if reading her thoughts, he approached her, "Good morning, Captain."

She grunted.

Undeterred, he continued, "I was going to allow you to rest for the duration, heaven only knows how much sleep debt you've acquired in the last several days let alone the last eight years, but I thought you might like to be awake for our second attempt."

Forming words around a mouthful of scalding liquid was difficult. Kathryn didn't attempt to speak around it, and nodded.

He looked like he might make an attempt in helping her slide from the bed, but Kathryn raised a hand to still him, "I appreciate your concern. And the coffee."

Tom shot her a grin.

The pilot's presence in the sick bay had increased in the previous two days. She was certain that Chakotay had stopped scheduling the man dual shifts since the baby, which meant Tom was volunteering his time. A touching gesture, for a man who pretended he didn't care.

Leaving the mug behind, Janeway approached the Doctor's bedside before looking toward the EMH, "How soon?"

"Now, if you'd like."

She nodded, unable to form words.

"Mr. Paris," the EMH prompted.

Tom studied their faces briefly before administering the counter-sedative. He had no witty quip to help wipe the grave expression from the EMH's face nor remove the concern on his captain's. He himself hardly seemed able to keep the curiosity from his own.

As the hypospray took effect, they waited with baited breath. At least, Kathryn felt that they all did; she didn't dare look up to check. Having learned from her previous mistake, she kept her hand away from the Doctor's and rested instead on his forearm.

When his eyelids fluttered, Kathryn leaned closer, "Doctor?"

Finally, alert brown eyes stared up at her.

She blinked, unsure of what to say. When he neither panicked nor reenacted the events of the day before, Kathryn took a note from Paris' book and smiled warmly, the skin at the corner of her eyes crinkling with her sincerity, "Good morning."


	4. iv

i 

“Good morning."

It hovered there.

The sound of Kathryn Janeway's voice was distorted by real earlobes, real eardrums, cochlear nerves, a brain stem and temporal lobes. She sounded different than what he remembered and yet – at the very same moment – she sounded exactly the way he had always expected she would. His sight of her, too, went through much of the same distorting process; the outcome leaving her hair a little darker, her eyes oddly blue.

Yet, despite all of these changes, her genuine smile remained the same.

But that statement – that pleasant statement – was completely uncalled for. As far as the Doctor was concerned in his barely conscious state, the morning was marked by an extraordinary headache caused by a skull that wasn't yet used to the skin surrounding it.

He opened his mouth to say as much, but nothing come out but air.

Vocal chords.

He never thought he'd have those; he'd revisit that thought later.

After several tries, he managed a faint, "What?"

The Doctor found himself being assisted by both his Captain and the helmsman into a sitting position, and a significant amount of sensory input was gathered from that simple gesture alone.

Too much.

He felt dizzy, and became even more so when they began to explain the situation to him. Sentient planetoid, transformation, _you're human_ so says your holographic self, _your brain is now in possession of the mobile emitter, but don't worry, you've been given a clean bill of health_.

He responded to this by promptly leaning over the side of the bed and emptying his already too-empty stomach on Thomas Paris' boots.

Not dizzy. Nauseous. A very honest mistake.

He heard his own voice speaking, coming from his own face behind the Captain's shoulder, and thought he might be sick again. Before that could happen, however, there was a cool palm being placed on his forehead, and then there was a small hand on his chest pushing him backward, "Breathe, Doctor."

Easier said than done (if this is what hyperventilation felt like, then he would never snap at a patient for doing it again); he wanted to stop but wasn't at all sure that it was possible.

"That's an _order_ , Doctor. _Breathe._ "

Something hissed against his neck, and air filled his lungs, a glorious feeling punctuated by three fresh coughs. Then everything went a welcoming shade of sedated black.

Time passed; he had little access to how much, nor did he care in his unconscious state. When he woke again, there was a medical tricorder hovering above his head. Tom was holding it with a faint expression of concern on his face; the other Doctor having retreated to his office with the Captain,

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" Tom's voice was marked with its typical levity, despite the gravity of the situation. Usually it was unwelcome, but at this moment it was soothing in its predictability.

"Your boots."

The tricorder was tucked away, apparently having delivered no bad readings, or if it had the pilot had missed them, "I'm a father; I've had worse. And really, you only had two choices."

"What were those?" The Doctor sat on his own, pressing a hand to his head and marveling in the new sensations. Was his pulse really in his fingertips? How distracting.

"To vomit on my boots, or the Captain's. I can't blame you for choosing mine… _I_ can only complain loudly; she can put you in the brig. Trust me, I know."

The Doctor's throat constricted, and for the briefest moment he thought he might be hyperventilating again, but it was only a chuckle making its way through. Involuntary, of course, as organics – unlike holograms – did not get to choose when they wanted to laugh and when they did not.

(That was the true travesty of this situation if there was one: he could no longer pretend that Tom wasn't funny).

The pilot patted him on the shoulder, a friendly gesture that matched his friendly smile, "Congratulations, Doctor! You're a healthy four-day-old, fifty-three-year-old male. Your parents, a sentient blue planetoid, will be proud of you, no doubt. The only thing they seemed to have forgotten, besides half of your body's systems, was to give you a name…"

It wasn't as funny as the last joke, and the Doctor found himself narrowing his eyes.

"Too soon, Tom," it was Kathryn's disembodied voice floating over as she approached, "and I heard that joke about the brig. Don't think I didn't hear you laugh either, Doctor."

In one of the rarest forms of camaraderie ever experienced aboard _Voyager_ , both men shared sheepish expressions. Despite the novelty of the experience, it was cut short by the Captain's order for Tom to go assist the holographicDoctor with cultures in the lab. There were several things Janeway needed to discuss with the newest member of her crew, many of which that did not require an audience.

They were left to themselves.

The Doctor, ever a doctor, took in the appearance of his Captain and friend with his new eyes. She appeared more rumpled than usual, as if she had slept in her uniform and then came to inspect the situation without bothering to change. To be fair, he suspected that, if he looked how he felt, his own appearance at the moment was much worse. Never had he felt more sure that his face was slipping down from the place it ought to be, or that his eyes were swelling to a size far too large for their sockets. He'd never had to worry about such things before because, prior to this, if his face fell off or his eyes _had_ grown too big for their sockets, he wouldn't have felt it. Well, he would have felt it, but the sensation would have been vastly different as a hologram than as a human.

It would have been a nuisance, yes, but one that wouldn't be attached to actual _pain_.

Shaking hands raised to his cheeks, where he used his fingers to ensure that all was where it should be.

"How are you feeling?"

Kathryn was at his bed now, both hands pressed to its edge. Her eyes were watching the progress of his hands in their quest for self-examination.

"Human. I think?"

Insecurity set in, not for the first time. He'd been told he was healthy, and he knew what healthy meant. When he was able, he'd request the records of the damage done as well as what treatments he had undergone while unconscious. He'd speak to…his other self…and debate the implications of having his body's higher thought processes running through the mobile emitter. What if he were to accidentally deactivate it without meaning to? What then? Simple logistical questions. Technical questions about his health and what he needed to do and think about now that he had a pulse. He had no clear idea who he would speak to about the rest. The more…personal matters of emotions, mortality…the possibility of changing back.

If it was even a possibility, technically and ethically.

Her eyes were still searching his movements, the same intense stare he had faced down many times. Only this time, he felt blood heating his cheeks. He'd have to worry about the physiological repercussions of his emotions now too, he realized. Blushing, sweating, and tense muscles. The fact that he could no longer hide behind a bland facial expression – his chuckle at Tom Paris' joke doubtless being the first of many embarrassing revelations.

The prospect was daunting.

"Human isn't necessarily a good thing."

"I think I realized that when I vomited on Mr. Paris' shoes," the joke fell flat and he winced, even though it had earned him a rueful smile for his efforts.

"Fair enough," she fell silent only briefly before continuing, "The mystery surrounding the planetoid and your transformation was called to the attention of the senior staff while you slept. We've exhausted several avenues and aren't sure if we're nearing the right one. I know you've only just awoken, but I need to ask you if you might know how or why…"

Now that. That was the one thing he knew that he was absolutely sure of.

"…it asked."

This time he did not mistake his nausea for dizziness.

ii

"It's amazing, absolutely amazing,"

B'Elanna was pacing in front of Kathryn's desk, face and hands animated as she imparted what she had learned from the EMH's scans of the mobile emitter.

They had all been unsettled by the Doctor's admission that the sentient planetoid had asked him if he would like to be human, and that he had agreed to it, even though he had been unaware of its motives for doing so. Well, they had all been unsettled, with the exception of the engineer; she'd accepted the challenge much like a child would accept a large bag of candy.

Kathryn found herself pinching the bridge of her nose, not wishing to look unhappy at the younger woman's enthusiasm, but feeling a side of migraine accompanying her exhaustion regardless,

"Please," her tone was low and her words slow, "sit down."

The half-Klingon did, her hands still raised before her in excitement while she continued, "All of the mobile emitter's memory capacity has been expended. All of it. The auxiliary programming – all those dealing with appearance and physiological mimicry – were deleted during his transformation. I didn't know why at first, and it was hard to sift out the Doctor's knew brain functions from the emitter's programming, but then I compensated for the brainwave patterns and was able to decipher a few hints that enabled me to crack the coding..."

"The chase B'Elanna, cut to it."

"It's a message, Captain."

Kathryn lowered her hand and settled a leveled gaze at her engineer, "A message?"

"Yes!"

B'Elanna leaned toward her, "Terraquads and terraquads of information. It looked like it might be star charts, data on spatial and sub-spatial anomalies, even information on species. Thousands of them. The test results were like a preview, I can't go through any of it until we download it from his emitter, and even then I'm sure that half of it won't make any sense to me."

"We'll jump that hurdle when we get to it, B'Elanna." Kathryn knew Seven would be able to help catalogue and decipher any information the engineer couldn't.

Harry and the Delaney twins could assist with the star charts, if there were any.

"Yes, Captain."

"Was there more?"

B'Elanna nodded, "I wanted to know why the planet gave all this to the Doctor and how, since everything we have on it suggests it has almost no ability to transfer information. So, I ran some tests and I think I have the answer…"

The migraine seemed to be melting away, and Kathryn began to feel some of the excitement her engineer was exuding,

"Well," she prompted, finding that she had begun to lean forward as well.

"The Doctor's human body was created without many of the elements it needed for survival. We know that this is why we almost lost him, but we didn't know why he was formed that way. I asked both Doctors for permission to look over the early reports and then combed through Harry and Seven's. What I discovered was that the Doctor was made entirely of the elements found in the planet's atmosphere, no more, no less.

I looked further to see how he was able to speak to the planet's atmosphere. All of their reports say that he was, and I'm inclined to believe that he was telling you the truth when he said that the planet asked him. He is theatrical, but he isn't prone to malfunction or deliberate falsehood. So, I ran a few more tests; the results are on the padd I gave to you."

B'Elanna reached forward and scooped up the device, calling up the information she wanted her captain to see. "There."

Kathryn took the padd and began to read it over, wary of what she might see, as B'Elanna continued to speak:

"The mystery element they originally went to study in the planet's atmosphere makes up nearly a third of the alloy in the Doctor's mobile emitter. My guess is that the planetoid was able to make a stable connection using their similarities. A mind meld, if you will, although Lt. Tuvok might argue that the process is different. The Doctor's mobile emitter was the perfect storage space for the information the planetoid wanted to share, but the Doctor's own programming was taking up too much of its memory…"

The connection between the data and the situation began to form without the engineer's help. Kathryn felt her eyes widening with the realization, "Are you telling me that the planet made the Doctor human so that it could turn him into a message courier?"

"Why not?" B'Elanna posed the question with a shrug of her shoulder. "The additional functional space of the human brain would be enough to ensure the survival of both data sets. The Doctor's programming had the DNA makeup of hundreds of humans on file, even Dr. Zimmerman's…if he said yes to the planet, then I don't see why it wouldn't do its best to create a human body for him. It didn't do so well in the end, but at least he's alive and the message has been delivered…"

"This is all in your report?" Kathryn focused on the PADD. She would definitely want a second opinion on this theory.

"All of it. There are still a lot of questions that need answers, including the motive behind the information transfer, but…"

"…but for now we have the most important."

B'Elanna nodded.

iii

The EMH's early fears had been correct – the mobile emitter could not be removed from the human Doctor's brain for fear of losing too many of his memories and functions in the process.

Even if the threat did not exist, Kathryn had agreed that they could not possibly ask the Doctor to part ways with what was left of vast medical database that was supported by the technology. It had been the core of his identity for the eight years of his existence, whereas the freedom of mobility had only defined the holographic Doctor's for a little more than four. To take medicine away from him would be tantamount to a crime as far as Kathryn was concerned, as well as a failure of judgment from both his friend and captain.

Seven likened the emitter's new purpose to her own cortical implant, explaining that removal might not just result in the loss of a great deal of information, but quite possibly his life. The EMH, however reluctant to part way with his freedom of movement, was inclined to agree.

The inevitable question of whether it would be true death if they could simply reactivate him once the emitter was removed was also raised. This line of questioning was almost instantly abandoned when they took the time to philosophize over its implications. The Doctor was human, for better or worse, and he would stay that way. Besides, the holographic Doctor's ethical programming would not allow him to do the procedure, nor could he authorize another to do the surgery.

(His pointed look at Kathryn while saying this let her know that he was remembering the Tuvix incident – the look was dually noted).

The efforts of Seven and B'Elanna, together with both Doctors' input, allowed them devise a way to remove much of the information given by the planetoid and upload it into the ship's computers. The procedure had to be done carefully in order to ensure that none of the Doctor's programming would be taken with it, as that too was similar to human neural pathways.

"Imagine if someone went in and erased months of your memories, or entire areas of knowledge…" had been the example used.

Meanwhile, B'Elanna was working with the EMH on a procedure that would allow her to access the emitter directly and remove or block the Doctor's ability to activate and deactivate himself, given the potential consequences and their likely finality.

As for the organic Doctor himself, he was fairing as well as could be expected, considering the major trauma he had gone through. All those involved were doing their best to treat him with rather more sensitivity than they would a science experiment. Kathryn rather thought they were succeeding in that regard.

They treated the holographic Doctor with the same degree of friendship and respect as well, while acknowledging that the situation would like create many awkward situations for everyone concerned. Kathryn suspected that a great number of those moments would involve herself – as both their Captain and their friend, she would have plenty of opportunities to do or say something that would leave one or both uncomfortable or insulted.

The reverse was also true, as both men would have to flesh out their new respective roles, both on duty and off.

Kathryn also promised herself that she would do her best to help them all preserver, even if that meant working through those moments with stubborn abandon.

"Be careful, Kathryn," Chakotay turned away from Ready Room replicator and handed her a fresh mug of coffee before settling on couch near her.

Her eyebrows quirked inquisitively when he didn't immediately elaborate, "I'm trying to be."

Chakotay chuckled warmly, a sound Kathryn missed every time she was allowed to hear it, and ran a finger along the rim of his teacup, "Both Doctor's will have questions that can't be answered quickly and then abandoned. They'll want thorough answers and may ask for them more than once. They'll also need our patience. Perhaps they'll need that more than they'll need our will to see the problem resolved."

 _There was no quick solution to this_ was what he was meaning to say.

Despite her desire for one, Kathryn was inclined to agree, "Our first test of their social identity is nearing much quicker than expected."

No one questioned that Chakotay's job of scheduling the duty rosters had become more difficult. Tom's ear to the rumor mill had, however, also brought up the inevitable question of how the Doctors' friends would treat them in the coming days. There were just some dilemmas that could not be avoided, and as Kathryn was learning, that was one.

" _Really_?" Chakotay's curiosity seemed to be getting the better of him.

Her expression grew colder but it had no effect, "I…" she took a sip of her drink and tried once more, "I'm supposed to have coffee with him – one of him, anyway – tomorrow. We scheduled it before the incident. It all feels like it was a world away...literally."

Chakotay did not need to ask which _hims_ she was referring. While he felt sympathy for all those involved, he could not stop the small laugh at her expense. Leave it to the ship's Captain to have to set the precedence on the Doctors' social life.

"I'm sorry," he said, half in response to the situation as well as for his mirth.

"What do I do?" The very fact that she ignored his slight suggested that this truly bothered her, "Do I reschedule and show everyone that it is okay to run away from the problem? Do I have coffee with both at the same time? Different times? Do I..."

He was chuckling again.

"Why are you laughing? This is serious matter, Commander."

Brown eyes looked everywhere but at her as Chakotay tried to tame his amusement. Finally, he gazed at her specifically, his dark face having grown very stoic. Serene. It clashed splendidly with the burgeoning anxiety Kathryn could not help but feel.

Eventually, he set his cup aside and turned to grasp her free hand in both of his.

"What do I do?" Kathryn asked, feeling ridiculous for having even uttered the words.

"I don't know," Chakotay responded gravely.

The corners of his mouth turned upward only moments later, "But I can tell you that I don't envy you."

Blue eyes narrowed at him, torn between being swayed to join him in his amusement or to berate him for his audacity.

Kathryn's lips quirked tellingly.

Before he could see her smile, however, she mustered up a passable glare, "Get out."


	5. v

i

It had only been three weeks since the incident – as there as nothing else to call it – and the dust had yet to settle.

On anything.

While the duty roster may have been reordered quickly –Chakotay had paid particular attention to the holodeck schedule and had managed, in a way that only he could, to correspond the holographic Doctor's shifts to times when the facility had the least number of reservations – brilliant scheduling was a pale consolation for a man whose freedom was reduced to a few key areas of the ship.

Kathryn didn't want to think of the emotional and social ramifications of the _incident._ While neither had gone as horribly as expected, they still weren't good. She had one Doctor not quite as enthralled with being human as everyone had expected him to be, and another Doctor who was envious of the other's change.

Despite this, Seven's findings concerning the planet's message were already promising.

"A galactic guide?"

Seven looked as if she found the description used an unfortunate one – as a former Borg, she very likely had a system of cataloguing such things that no one on board was privy to or able to understand:

"An accurate assumption," was all she said on the matter.

The ex-Drone turned away from her captain and the ship's engineer long enough to pull up specific star charts, each of which were overlaid on the three dimensional galaxy chart they were familiar with. On the console, beneath her quick hands, further data was being accessed and displayed.

"The being appears to be nomadic, traveling from one planet's atmosphere to another. Using the data compressed in its message, I was able to plot its approximate course through the quadrant."

Kathryn found herself staring in awe as the patterns and curves appeared on the astrometic lab's holographic screen, beginning deep within the Beta Quadrant and spreading outward through the Delta Quadrant. Its path was not linear, moving along a seemingly erratic course that implied that it had no particular destination or that it might be in search for something specific. Both hypotheses could be correct, but they would not know until all the data could be deciphered and organized.

Whatever the reasoning behind it, the entity had intersected the path Q had provided them an overwhelming number of times.

"The data," B'Elanna asked, "Is it limited to planets?"

"The being has included information on spacial bodies, nebulae, and anomalies it observed on its journey. It has also provided cultural, geological and other astronomical data," Seven gave her companions a long look, "I should be able to create a 'Galactic guide' but much of the data may be dated."

"Fascinating," the half-Klingon murmured.

There was a small stirring of hope within the captain. This could be a peek into the worlds they may face, the societies, the dangers and the potential shortcuts; they could all be concealed in this overwhelming flow of data. The authenticity of it all would have to be verified, of course – more than once if she was going to hinge any future bets on it – but the charts provided by Seven were a very good start.

"How much of that data?"

Seven stood still as she accessed the information, her focus going where it went when she reached within herself for answers,

"Twenty three worlds have been assimilated by the Borg since the being's approximate presence there. Thirty more had populations whose lifeforms could not survive prolonged exposure to the being in their atmosphere. Data collected from these remain incomplete. Time may have resulted in immeasurable changes elsewhere; I am uncertain of what those may be."

Kathryn gave her a pleased smile and patted B'Elanna's shoulder – who stood closer to her than the former-drown. The Captain was clearly relieved that something with the potential of being _helpful_ had come of this mess, "Good work, Seven. Continue studying the data. Notify me if you find anything else."

"Yes, Captain"

"B'Elanna?"

The engineer had come out of curiosity for Seven's answers, but Kathryn suspected she had something else to say. Something unpleasant, and she wasn't disappointed.

"I know you're happy that Seven's found an answer, but if we don't find dilithium in the next four days, it won't matter how accurate the guide is. We'll be stranded here at impulse."

Kathryn paused, her good mood spoiled, "Four days? You gave us two weeks … at _least._ "

"That was before we had to vent our plasma during this morning's ion storm," B'Elanna sighed and ran a hand through her hair – long hours of supervising routine maintenance and looking into ways to safeguard the mobile emitter from malfunctions were clearly taking their toll.

Caring for Miral in all of this was probably no relief either.

"Talk to Seven. Find us a dilithium source, and take us out of warp."

ii

"The Kerevian vines are strangling my orchids."

The Doctor's keen brown eyes narrowed in a caricature of deep concentration. He took in the sight of the battling flora for precisely twenty seconds – providing several 'hms' and 'ahs' – before redirecting his gaze to his companion, "I'm a Doctor, Kathryn, not a botanist. I don't know what you want me to do, other than to sedate them."

He stood, dusting his hands on his trousers as he did, "Which, I can already tell you, won't work."

Kathryn adverted her gaze and took in an arrangement of bright magenta leaves – attached to a sort of beet that Neelix had planted long ago, with a name no human could wrap their mouth or vocal chords around no matter how hard they tried to – and delivered a blunt little,

"No, but what you can do is help me dig up the vines and move them to their own corner."

For a brief moment, he considered declining the invitation – because this was an invitation, he could see that in her wry smirk – but the concessions she had made in the last month stayed his denial.

He knew she took coffee with the EMH in Tuscany once every two weeks – a routine _they_ used to have. But while he jealously thought of the holoprogram as his time and place with his captain, the Doctor could not begrudge his other self of this change. _He_ had the mobile emitter after all, and juggling coffee dates with two men who looked, spoke and acted alike was an unfair task to demand of Kathryn's memory.

Scheduling _that_ much time in the holodecks was likely to be just as difficult.

The Doctor found himself rolling up his sleeves instead.

The simple workout routine required of the crew had worn him out over the weeks, but he was certain digging a little wouldn't do his sore body anymore harm than lazing around for the afternoon would. And anyway, the warmer climate in the hydroponics bay – with its artificial humidity and replicated sunlamps – was a welcome change.

(A month spent as a human and he had only just become used to the simple sensation of clothes on skin, of _Voyager's_ low temperatures, and everything in between. It was less distracting now than it had been originally – no more nausea – but not something he would likely take for granted any time soon).

"You need a new hobby, anyway," Kathryn's tone was far too cavalier for the situation.

After discovering that he could neither sing nor play a decent game of golf, the two had begun a long, arduous journey of finding him new interests – those more suitable to the limitations of his body and her patience. Golfing was something he could practice on his own time during lulls in his duty shifts, but he knew she was more than pleased that he no longer spouted opera at whim – although it was a skill he missed very deeply now that it was gone.

As he turned to tell her so, she passed him a trowel.

Scowling, he inspected the tool, "Is this a new hobby or a new duty…?"

Kathryn quirked a brow and patted his back as she moved to kneel at the soil bed, " _Dig_."

He stared forlornly at the thin but durable tendrils of the vine, counting a rather overwhelming fifty-seven of them before giving up on the venture.

Duty or pleasure, it didn't matter, his friend needed his help, "Aye, Aye, Captain."

iii

The weather in Tuscany was warmer than Kathryn usually kept it; the Doctor could tell this by the loose, short-sleeved tunic his friend had chosen to wear. While he understood the concept of temperature, could even feel the variations in it, it mattered little to the functioning of his program...

(For a man who could survive in extreme conditions, a few extra degrees meant very little to him).

... _And that hat she was wearing_! He'd rather not think about that hat (which had made its first appearance two weeks prior) unless it was to tell her to never wear it again. But since they were seated outside and in the sun, and it was shading her eyes from the glare, he had to bite his holographic tongue.

They may not be the only two using the program – Tom and Harry were milling about somewhere, supposedly looking for ways to expand the already magnificent city, but very likely just looking for an excuse to have fun on such a bland day – but they were the only members of the crew in the café.

Since the loss of his mobile emitter, finding the time or the wherewithal to interact with friends and colleagues outside of work had become difficult, Kathryn had made it clear that their previous routine would continue as it had. A month and a week later, and she had managed to keep her promise.

"Have Leitenant Paris and Seven been able to locate a dilithium source?"

Reminding Kathryn that they had been reduced to impulse for nearly two weeks wasn't the best way to start a conversation, but the claustrophobic sensation of the present situation was overwhelming him, and his mood of late was reflecting that.

Her expression, masked behind the rim of the mug as she sipped from her drink and the shadow cast by the brim of her hat, was something akin to faint bemusement, "We had a senior staff meeting about it today, last time I checked, you were invited."

"Ah," the Doctor cleared his throat, and fidgeted in his seat, "Have I ever told you that following our senior staff meetings through a console screen is more difficult than it looks. Especially when there is another you who is saying everything you need to say before you do?"

The confusion in Kathryn's eyes melted away into compassion as she set her mug aside.

(There were many aspects of her personality that made her difficult to approach with issues like these, but this had been sitting within him for nearly a month with no other outlet but here).

"We've come a long way from the days when we muted you," there was a sadness in her tone, one that suggested a true regret, "but I may have been misguided in my hope that giving both of you access to the meetings would prevent problems before they could manifest."

"Two of me is better than none," he tried to pass off his uncertainty with pride and was unable to realize how poorly the tactic actually worked.

"You'll brook no argument there," she deadpanned, falling into a thoughtful silence quickly after as she gazed at him and rubbed the fingers of her left hand together.

When there had been enough silence, Kathryn continued to speak, "Seven was able to locate a sizable ore vein in a star system eight lightyears from here. We'll be sending Tom, Gilmore and Ensign Blain in the _Delta Flyer_ to mine it. If we're fortunate, _Voyager_ will be on her way in another two weeks."

The Doctor gave her the best approximation of a smile that he could, "Everyone must be glad."

Something darkened.

He wasn't sure if it was a holographic cloud blocking the holographic sun or her eyes. Whichever it was, there was a new intensity in the way she was scrutinizing him, with a force the Doctor had faced before. One that was equal parts unsettling and comforting. It wasn't often that others tried to figure him out, even rarer still that they sat with him while he tried to figure himself out.

"Are they?"


	6. epilogue

i

"Shields up! Red alert! And, somebody, report!" the orders were louder than the hiss of the turbolift doors as they slid shut behind the captain, but they were still nearly drowned out by a rumble from the decks below.

Around the bridge – and then very sharply through it – _Voyager_ shuddered under the assault she met against her shields.

Harry dragged himself up from where he had landed on the floor, unaware of the sizable burn stretching across one cheek and down his neck – the injury the outcome of a nearby console erupting in a shower of sparks and steam – and answered her quickly.

"Two ships have decloaked and are firing, three more are coming out of warp… _now!_ "

Where there had once been empty space, there were now three specks, each of which were growing significantly closer with each passing second.

Harry magnified the view without being asked, and the bridge crew was only mildly surprised by what they saw (this was a familiar dance, just on a different day). In the lead, and the easiest to identify, was the _Delta Flyer,_ looking scorched but in one piece. Behind her were two oddly incandescent triangular spacecrafts that were neither familiar nor menacing in appearance.

But looks could be deceiving (i.e, the Kazon), and Kathryn had more than a hunch telling her that the assault was coming from two identical ships.

"Try hailing them, Harry. Tuvok?"

The Vulcan regarded her coolly, "Our shields are holding at eighty-six percent, Captain."

"Any luck with that hail?"

In the time it took the Ensign to send another request, _Voyager_ jerked once more, nearly throwing Kathryn off her feet; she corrected her balance before colliding with the railing:

"I'll take that as a no. Evasive maneuvers. Forget the hail, Mr. Kim. Can we contact the _Delta Flyer_?"

Tom's face filled the screen, but he wasted no time at looking up toward them, "I hope you don't mind that I brought home a few friends, Captain."

Kathryn ignored his wit – something that could always do with better timing on his part, but was an expected installment whenever they were in a crunch – "What happened?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Go to a strange new place, meet new life, and then the new life attacks you without provocation." Tom peered up for a moment, the expression in his eyes serious and confused – he really _didn't_ know why this was happening.

"We have the dilithium, and our shields are holding. And, to be perfectly honest, their weapon arsenal isn't what I would call intimidating, so don't worry about us."

"Just stay out of their way, Tom," the transmission ended with a brief nod of her head, just as Chakotay strode off the turbolift.

"Captain?"

"We have company, Commander."

"If this is their way of saying hello, I'm not sure I want to ask them in for tea," he was level with her on the command platform now. Instead of staying on his feet; however, Chakotay sat in his chair and pulled up all the information that was being fed to them from various stations throughout the ship.

Kathryn caught his eye briefly, and they shared one of their old, rueful smiles,

"Tuvok," she ordered, "fire a warning shot off the lead ship's port bow. Show them what they're up against."

The glow of _Voyager's_ phaser fire lit up the view screen twice. Both skimmed the angular side of the same alien vessel – the power of the energy catching whatever they used to shield themselves and sending the ship into a violent rocking motion – a moment later, Tuvok spoke, "They are powering down their weapons."

"They're hailing," Harry added, "Audio and visual."

"About time. Put them through, Mr. Kim."

A tall, serenely slender woman filled the screen. Silence permeated the bridge as her deep, wide-set black eyes peered down at them without seeming to blink. Pale, smooth yet unsettlingly taunt skin seemed to stretch across prominent bone structures, giving the impression that, if the Betazoids had distant cousins, the woman before them would belong to that race.

"I am Tih-ahn Ra of the Briyali Fifth Order, your entrance into our space has not been approved. We have taken into consideration your defensive warnings and have determined that you are not an aggressor. Please state the business of your presence in our space, and we will see to your passage."

Kathryn's eyebrows shot up briefly in surprise, but she did not turn to share the glance she knew Chakotay had sent her way.

"I am Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship _Voyager_. We are traveling home and have been adrift in your space for several weeks. As for our shuttle – our warp technology depends on dilithium; my crew was simply mining it. I apologize for any misunderstandings. We weren't aware that this space was otherwise occupied."

Tih-ahn Ra gave her a slow but brief bow, "A simple mistake, Captain. Our markers for the outer region of our territory are often lost to the subspace anomalies and rebellious activity that occurs here. I had assumed your shuttle's pilot was among the latter. I apologize as well; please accept the dilithium that was oared as a token of friendship."

"That's very kind," _almost too kind_ , yet there was nothing in the other woman's demeanor that suggest subterfuge, "Is there anything I can do in return?"

A moment passed as the alien commander addressed someone out of view, when she returned, she bowed once more, "My home world, Briyali Tei lies thirty lightyears from our current location. If you would be so kind to accompany us on the trip, my people invite you to exchange cultural information. We are fond of peaceful travelers"

This time, Kathryn did meet Chakotay's gaze and then Tuvok's. There was no objection in either.

"We'd love to."

ii

"The entity explored this space sixty years ago; current data is limited."

Kathryn stood near Seven at one of the astrometric terminals, reading over the young woman's shoulder quickly, "Nine inhabitable planets, each within seventy light years of one another and all along our course. I haven't seen such fertile space in years. Have you cross-referenced this with the Borg database?"

Seven have her a curt nod, "The Borg considered assimilating Species 260, the Treveene, but a catastrophe in the atmosphere of their home planet rendered their technology inert and eradicated a significant percentage of their population."

"How long ago?"

Seven stood silently as she accessed that information, "Fifty-eight years, three months, five da…"

That was no coincidence, "The entity?"

"Your hypothesis sufficiently fits the data; I will attempt to verify it," Seven left her side and moved toward the central console.

"Good," Kathryn punched in a few commands, but found the density of the information discouraging, "You wouldn't have anything on the Briyal, would you?"

"Very little," Seven, who had been busy accessing her own information, brought Briyali Tei and its system on the holographic screen for the captain's viewing.

In the lower right corner, a magnification of the planet was displayed, showing off the rich green and white surface, "Species 261. They had early warp core capabilities at the time of the Treveene's atmospheric disaster. The Borg assimilated a science vessel. The Briyal only offered advanced holographic technology and weak telepathic biological capabilities. The Borg did not pursue them further."

"And the information provided to us by the entity?"

"It provided nothing," if one strained their ears, they might have heard that statement as a complaint.

Kathryn clicked her tongue and placed a hand on her hip, "Looks like we're going to have to do what we've always done."

For a brief moment, Seven smirked, "If you mean fly recklessly into a vastly unknown territory, then I believe you are correct; we will have to do what we have always done."

Kathryn pursed her lips, narrowed her eyes, but was smiling – at least a little bit – on the inside.

iii

There was a soft but heartfelt sigh to the Doctor's right as the ship's pilot took one of the many open seats next to him in the dark mess hall.

Tom Paris looked like a man who had spent the past several evenings attending to a quarter-Klingon child who was, to the great regret of her parents, experiencing growing pains. Something that neither doctor had been willing to prescribe anesthetics for, since young Klingon immune systems responded poorly to them.

If there was any latent reason that explain why the entire race worshipped pain, the Doctor could see that being it.

"You're up late, Doc."

Heavy bones and dry eyes agreed with Tom's statement of the obvious.

The Doctor had had a long double shift.

It was something he could have easily drifted through as a hologram, but – now that he was human – he found difficult to do. He had been programmed with the ability to focus on multiple thoughts at once a long time ago, but as a human he had not been trained to focus even on one. The difference was distinct. It made his mind wander when preforming simple checkups on crew-members who clearly didn't need them, but wanted them anyway, because maybe they had this obscure disease that, if he still didn't have part of his medical database stored in the mobile emitter in his brain, _he'd_ be hard-pressed to know.

"There was no food on reserve when I got in."

The Doctor said this carefully, not wanting to seem as if he had been waiting for someone he could complain to. That was no way to make friends with people who were already unsure which version of you to be friends with.

But he had a valid reason for it, complaining that is, if he had really wanted to. The replicators were out again, and since most of the dilithium mined was going to the warp core, little would be spared for easy access to non-emergency supplies.

So, he'd had to make his own dinner. And since he'd lost his few cooking skills in the accident ( _incident_ , as others like to refer to it) dinner was served cold.

"Yeah, Chell doesn't have Neelix's knack for running an endless buffet," Tom dug into some of the leftover salad the Doctor had thrown together, before looking up at him sheepishly, "You don't mind, do you? I'm starved. Miral is eating everything in sight."

The Doctor found himself granting the younger man a reluctant smile and nod. If there was anyone on _Voyager_ who could fit into the roll of bedraggled father, his would have least expected it to be Tom Paris. Hell, if pressed, he'd admit that Harry Kim would have been the likelier candidate, and even the ensign had slim chances compared to many others.

But fatherhood suited Paris. Oddly. Perhaps it was the contented roundness that had begun to fill out the pilot (the Doctor was a doctor, after all, he was supposed to notice the increase in his patient's weight), or perhaps the blond had been cocky in his youth and needed only a few more years than most to grow up. Caring for a child probably worked wonders on him as well.

...Who was he kidding, Kim would need a few more decades.

"Go ahead."

(He'd made extra because the Captain usually came in late – in the dead of the night, likely under the delusion that no one noticed. It had seemed imperative to him when he'd slipped into the hydroponics bay an hour earlier to sift through the greens there, that she have something they'd grown to eat when she came in to brood.

Even if it wasn't much. Just so she knew someone cared, in only a slightly intrusive way).

They sat quietly as Paris tried to eat politely but failed – probably as starved as he'd claimed to be – and the Doctor pushed little pieces of alien lettuce around on his plate.

There was so much he wanted to discuss with someone, but it clearly wasn't going to be with Paris, although he wasn't as difficult a companion as he once had been. It could not Seven or Tuvok or Samantha Wildman, as they had each taken to speaking with the EMH more frequently than with him.

Even the Captain was not a viable option, although she had generously offered him her ear.

He could talk to himself – the EMH, that is – but there had been a tacit agreement between the two of them not to spend any time together if they could help it.

It wasn't as if they couldn't get along – they probably were well suited for some sort of wit-riddled friendship. Neither questioned the continued existence of the other, but there were clearly some things neither wanted to be reminded of. Or, at least, he didn't want to be reminded of.

(He'd already had enough silent, lonely panic attacks in the last month to know what would trigger another. It was difficult enough looking in the mirror; hearing his voice across the room was asking too much).

Paris had been looking at him in his oddly perceptive way, chewing his food slowly until the Doctor realized that he was being observed.

By then, it was too late to stop his company from speaking, "What are you reading?"

The padd to the right of the Doctor's plate had been discarded more than an hour before. His eyes had grown tired of studying it in the dark, and he'd had to make the choice between raising the lights so he could continue reading or sitting idly in the shadows. Since his focus had already been weakened by his shift, the latter option had won out effortlessly in the end.

"If you must know," the answer might have had a chance at being pompous and irritated, but the Doctor's tone ruined it. Tired. Work weary, he still wasn't used to being so exhausted, "it's the medical information the planetoid...transmitted. There isn't much, but I need to study it."

Study it. _By reading!_ In the past he could have just downloaded the information right into his database and leave reading for novels. Now, however, with his new limitations, no information could be introduced into his program. His brain and body must be conserved, and any disturbance in information flows between the mobile emitter and his brain pathways might cause damage that no one could treat.

Not even himself...his other self...

The Doctor felt weighted down by the limitations of his body and more than a little useless because of it. He spent so much time catching up with his hologram, who would have already incorporated the information and begun developing hypotheses, that he wondered if it was worth it to even try.

Paris picked up the padd and keyed it on, his eyes skimming the information, "Treveene anatomy and physiology. I'm sure it's fascinating stuff...but...no wait...can I give you some advice?"

The Doctor blinked at him, not sure if he wanted to agree. But his curiosity wan out in the end, and he nodded very imperceptibly, hoping that the pilot didn't see.

"Pace yourself, get some sleep, and..."

Paris finished chewing and set his fork aside, signaling that he was done with his meal, "Don't try to memorize it cold, you'll just end up frustrated in the end. For humans, databases are external referencing tools not internal. It'll be there for you when you need it, and you haven't lost the ability to work with the information once you have it, it'll just take some getting used to. That's all..."

How had he...?

Was the Doctor really that easy to read that Thomas Paris could give him strangely solid advice?

"How..."

Paris watched as the dilemma played itself out across his crew-mate's expression, and couldn't help but take the opportunity to exploit it, "I'm offended! I've worked with you, and dealt with your ego for the past eight years and you still think that I don't at least know how you work? What am I to you? Brain dead?"

The Doctor blinked, flabbergasted and unaware that Paris was only setting the bait.

A smile was tugging at the pilot's lips as he stood, "And B'Elanna told me you aren't able to download data anymore. I could help you make an index on the holodeck, a visual display of the information you need as it would fit in your old cognitive algorithms."

Tom seemed to realize that he might be overstepping his bounds, "Not to assume that...only if you'd like me to."

"I..." the Doctor swallowed, shocked, but then again, not shocked, by the support of the man staring at him expectantly, as if waiting for the denial and words of harsh chastisement, but looking undaunted by the possibility regardless.

"I would like that. Thank you."

v

"The captain's hunch was right, the Treveene were unable to support the entity in their atmosphere," the holographic doctor remained seated at his desk, taking Seven's comm-call at the terminal there instead of in his lab, where he had run the tests she'd asked him.

Even photons needed to rest their legs on occasion, although it was for other reasons than being tired.

The blonde seemed unmoved by his announcement, but her interest in the information was not going to be found in her facial expressions. The fact that she had remained up this late into the evening when it more efficient to complete a regeneration cycle is what gave her curiosity away, "Please provide more proof than your spoken agreement, Doctor."

He sighed and fought the urge to refer her directly to the report, which she could download as easily as he, "The Treveene's physiology contained a significant respiratory enzyme that would, if the entity were present, be inhibited by its own physiological properties. Their bodies would be starved of the necessary energy to live in a manner of weeks."

Seven's eyes left the screen as she searched through data, her brow furrowed in a visible display of confusion, "Our information states that the entity remained in their atmosphere for nearly three years. We also know that several thousand survivors remained on the surface to rebuild. Explain."

Perhaps he was just sensitive to commands that made him feel like a tool, but her recent treatment of him felt worse than it had in the previous year. Which, itself, had been fairly cold.

The Doctor shrugged it off, "It's simple, Seven. The entity would have caused wide-spread death, as the data, shows. But any number of mutations that presented themselves in older generation and persisted into younger ones could have created an enzyme that would not be inhibited by the entity's gaseous properties."

"Is it likely that any of the original survivors remain? The captain may be interested to know."

The Doctor ran the appropriate statistics through several of his probability algorithms and had the answer in moments, "It would have created a bottleneck effect. Any Treveenes that are alive today to carry that enzyme would have lost the gene diversity necessary to insure their survival in another environmental disaster. They're vulnerable, if they are still there, but that does not mean they aren't there."


End file.
